Your Almost Guardian
by Kuroi Diamond
Summary: Dick Simmons is a lonely and insecure teen dealing with bullies and the other tortures of high school. Dick is both shocked and somewhat pissed off when he comes home one day to find a freaking angel sitting on his bed. As if his life needed to get any worse, now he's got this slovenly excuse for a celestial being following him everywhere...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **If you're familiar with it, you may notice I've gained some inspiration from Supernatural. I like the idea of a high school AU but with the difference that one of the characters isn't human, so hopefully it'll be something different you will enjoy.

**Warnings: **trigger warning for mildly descriptive scenes of bullying. Later mature rated sexual relationship between a minor (16 year old) and extremely old non-human being.

* * *

Dick's knees fucking _sting._

He's been biting back pain all day, ever since Church just had to go and trip him over in the halls right after his first class, sending Dick and his bag to the floor; books and papers scattering everywhere.

"Whoops, better watch yourself Dickie!" he'd crowed and his little band of followers had jeered as Dick tried desperately to hide how badly it really hurt. And then to add insult to injury, Church had gone and walked over the papers as he was trying to pick them up, causing a number of them to tear.

Not only had his knees been shredded, he'd had to hand in his physics essay haphazardly taped up and sporting a dirty print from one of Church's big dumb boots.

Now at home, Dick can finally check what the damage is. Trudging gingerly up the stairs, he heads into the bathroom, toeing off his shoes and unbuckling the belt keeping his too-large jeans up on his slender hips. It hurts like hell as Dick tentatively rolls the jeans down to his knees and he lets out an almost shameful whimper as he has to peel the cotton off the raw skin where it's fused with dried blood.

_Fucking Church..._

As careful as he's being, a few scabs break open and start bleeding afresh. Dick applies a spray of antiseptic from the first aid kit to each knee grimacing at the sting of it then gently wraps a bandage around each. He contemplates his jeans for a moment and sees the bloodstains aren't too noticeable, meaning it's safe to put them in the laundry; if his mom noticed blood on his clothes again, it'd mean an awkward conversation he'd really rather just avoid.

With a resigned sigh, Dick tosses his jeans into the hamper in the corner of the bathroom and turns to contemplate his reflection in the mirror;

It's not his fault he was born with hair the orange of fucking packaged tomato soup; whenever he gets upset or embarrassed (which is most of the time) his pale, freckled skin flushes deep red, clashing horribly with the garish colour of his hair. He's also long-limbed but not nearly as tall as he wishes he was and he's skinny as a twig; in fact, he's thin and fragile-looking all over; his face sports a narrow nose, pointed chin and sharp cheekbones. Knobbly elbows and knees and startling moss-coloured eyes complete the unfortunate package that is Dick Simmons.

He sighs; he's such a fucking stereotype of a nerd it probably makes picking on him too damn easy. At least he doesn't have to wear glasses.

With a final glare at the mirror he turns on his heel and leaves the bathroom, heading down the hall to his bedroom; he just wants to do his homework and crash; he's exhausted from the hurt and the humiliation of the day and feels like he could just sleep for a week. He opens the door to his room, heading to grab a fresh pair of jeans when he hears what is unmistakably the sound of a throat being cleared behind him. Dick turns in the direction of the noise...

And there is a man sitting on his bed.

"Sup?" he says, nodding towards the teen.

. . .

Richard Eugene Simmons, commonly known as Dick, is a smart kid; he can normally break down any problem he's faced with and figure out a logical solution. Only, here there is no time for breaking any of the facts down or any kind of close examination. In spite of these variables, Dick would probably be glad to know that he made the logical decision regardless;

Which is to start screaming.

_Loudly._

"_Hell_, kid!' the man shouts, leaping up "calm down!" he starts reaching for him but Dick is already fleeing out the door and down the hall, heart and thoughts race.

_Ohgod ohgod is he a murderer?! A molester?! How is he in my house?! Gotta run, gotta call the cops and-_

He collides with a solid mass and sprawls to the floor, dazed. Looking up he sees the man staring down at him like Dick is total moron and that'd probably upset him if he wasn't too busy realising that the man had somehow _teleported in front of him_.

. . . It doesn't seem physically possible.

"Who...? What...?" Dick is finding that he's too shocked to be scared anymore, but he's having trouble forming coherent sentences. Somehow, the man seems to understand though;

"You can call me Grif and as for the what... Ugh, this gonna sound so totally lame but whatever; yeah, I'm an angel of the Lord."

. . . Dick is only sixteen years old and he is going to be murdered by a serial killer who thinks he's an angel. Life is a special kind of cold-hearted tramp.

"Please don't hurt me, mister; I'm just a kid!" He pleads and the guy looks a little disgusted.

"Oh, for crying out loud; dumbass, I'm here to _help_ you' he explains exasperatedly "I got drafted into the whole guardianship program because apparently they're short on man-power, what with everyone getting shunted onto the American Election Initiative; we're pretty sure your Romney dude is possessed by a demon; Luci's been sneaking them into Republicans for years now. Man, and you think your family has problems? At least you don't have a psychotic estranged big brother who, oh yeah, happens to run _Hell_."

Dick has no idea what in the heck this guy Grif is on about, but he just keeps quiet and lets him rant; maybe if he plays his game, he won't kill and eat him.

"M-must be tough..." he whispers and Grif looks down at him with a mildly frustrated expression.

"Kid... You don't believe a word that's coming out of my mouth, do you?" It's a rhetorical question, he clearly knows Dick isn't buying what he's selling but the frightened teen still tries to keep the fear off his face.

"Yes! Wait, I mean yes as in yes, I do believe you! Not yes as in yes, I don't!"

Grif sighs.

"Of all the needy fucking kids in the world they stick me with _you_' he intones scathingly "Alright kid, I'll prove I'm for real, but you'd better make me a sandwich later; manifesting these babies on the mortal plane is hungry work..."

Dick has no idea what the man is about to do and gets ready to run, but then Grif is rolling his shoulders and the air behind him shimmers like a mirage as two large shapes appear at his back.

Two tawny-coloured, _feathered _shapes.

Dick gapes. _Wings_. Actual fucking wings. There is a dude standing in his hallway with an actual pair of wings on his back. The super-computer that is Dick's brain starts trying to process this development but overheats in its attempt, instead deciding "fuck it, I'm going to sleep."

So Dick does just that... And faints.

The last thing he hears as he slumps over backwards and the world goes dark is Grif complaining in an utterly bitter voice;

"So much for getting me a sandwich..."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Translation note:**_Dexiel is a name I made up based on the fact that the name Dexter is connected to the ancient Greek word _dexi_meaning 'worship.' The 'iel' on the end is added because it is a common ending to angelic names and also because in Latin it is a suffix used to form adjectives, so very roughly the name Dexiel could be read to mean 'worshipping.' For the sake of familiarity for the readers however, Grif will be referred to by this name as little as possible.

**Chapter warnings: **brief, very mild sexual content at end of chapter.

* * *

They've given him an alias. Apparently there is something humans consider to be inherently suspect about others with only a single part to their name unless they happen to be an entertainer. Dexiel doesn't know why this is and he doesn't particularly care. Intel had informed him that the closest equivalent to his name in the part of Earth he was being shipped off to was 'Dexter.' It sounded ridiculously _nerdy_but Intel has this stupid policy that aliases need to be kept as close as possible to your real name so you remember them easily. Thankfully, they'd let him pick his own second name (surname, they called it) so he'd chosen Grif; apparently it was a little unusual but he'd liked the way it sounded and it sure made up for the first name they'd stuck him with.

So the newly dubbed Dexter Grif had been handed his charge's file and after the briefest of possible debriefs he was unceremoniously shoved right out of the realm of Heaven and onto the mortal plane with the speed of a comet. Fortunately, he'd been yet to inhabit his vessel so smacking into the Earthen plane hadn't hurt, but he kind of got the feeling his Sergeant had been hoping it would. Grif scowled; they'd never really gotten along. Cherubs and Ophanim didn't really mesh; Grif's duties were normally based more around helping plants to grow and weaving little whispers of suggestions into the fabric of human's realities to help guide them along their intended paths. It was all very laidback work and Sarge didn't quite seem to appreciate that Grif was not built for guardianship like the hardy, cunning Orphanim angels. Guardianship was tough work; intense and fulltime; once you got a charge, you were stuck until you'd figured out how to put them on track and that could take decades. Mind, angels' perception of time meant that decades could often feel like mere hours if you bothered to think about it, but most of them tried not to; it was enough to drive you crazy and make your feathers malt out.

No, but guardianship was a serious pain in the wing joints; sometimes humans, special humans who were destined to perform important work for Heaven needed more than just the little push in the right direction through dreams or well-placed sudden ideas (Kaiel still wouldn't shut up about being the first to try that technique; if Grif had to hear talk about 'the Eureka Phenomenon' one more time, he'd hurl his sister's halo into the sun; hopefully with her still attached) if you were unlucky than sometimes the special, spoilt humans needed _direct divine intervention_; a compatible angel would be found and sent to reveal themselves to the human and steer them back on track.

Sadly, Heaven being a bit thin on the ground meant that maybe less than qualified angels were getting sent on these missions now. Grif had heard some pretty awful horror stories about guardianships going wrong; your human could go crazy or get put on the wrong track, sending thousands of years of prophecy and planning down the celestial drain. Grif didn't plan to screw up _that_badly though; his charge was low-priority and low-clearance, so it wasn't like it should be that hard. The only reason they were sending him at all was because the countdown towards the revelation of the prophecy including this kid was getting close. His file read his case had been delayed three times already, so they pretty much had to strike now or it'd be too late.

Grif hoped it wouldn't take that long; he couldn't wait to get back to Heaven and resume his usual lazy duties; he'd been spending most of his time lately trying to see if he could coax a rose to grow on the top of the Himalayas; it was stupid and whimsical, he knew, but he kinda really didn't want that rose to die...

Once he'd found his bearings on Earth, he'd needed to locate a decent vessel; a human whose spiritual energy signature had similar wavelengths to his own. It was all very science-y and Grif couldn't be bothered to think about it; another thing for the eggheads in R&D to worry about, not really his area. It was easy enough to pick up on a nearby energy signature and he'd floated towards it.

The man he'd found was kinda tubby, but it wasn't a bad thing; in fact, with his soft build and curly hair he was actually pretty... _Cherubic. _If Grif had been able to, he'd of snorted. He didn't understand the human obsession with how his kind was depicted in Roman artwork, but whatever.

Floating around after the man, Grif had also noted that despite the fact that his skin was a deep russet tone indicating Polynesian decent, his hair and eyes were light in colour; definitely a vessel then. Sometimes mismatched physical characteristics in humans like that were indications of suitability to being angelic vessels; human doctors put it down to genetics, but they were only right about that half the time.

Anyway Grif made the whole "I'm an angel of the Lord, yadda-yadda-yadda" ramble to this guy and after he'd finished looking like he was going to have a heart attack at the voice speaking to him out of nowhere, it had turned out he was deeply religious and very willing to turn himself over to being Heaven's bitc- uh, a servant of Heaven. Grif settled himself around the man's body, sinking easily into his skin and wrapping around his mind. It was a simple enough matter to put the man's consciousness into a deep slumber and take control.

"I'm Phil, by the way!" He'd been saying excitedly when Grif had shunted him off into a corner of his own mind. He really didn't need to have the chirpy, devout man aware of what was going on.

"Whatever, Phil' he'd grumbled in his now human voice and then "oh for- is that I sound like? Could this get any lamer?"

He probably should have resisted saying that because, yes, it turned out it could; his charge had screamed when he'd seen him, ran away, crashed into him, not believed him when he'd told him he was an angel and then fainted when he'd seen his wings, going out like a cheap light on the cold floor while Grif had stood there in disbelief.

Yeah. It could get a lot lamer. He was off to a fantastic start.

With a sigh, he nudges the kid with a wing tip; yup, definitely unconscious. He supposes he'd better get with the guardianship thing and at least make him comfortable. It's not a difficult feat to heave the kid over his shoulder and transport him back to his bedroom. Grif sweeps a wing out, clearing the bed of comic books and assorted bits of paper before laying the kid down as gently as possible on the Captain America bedspread. Casting a brief glance at the mess he's made on the floor, Grif wonders if he should pick the stuff up then shrugs it off; he's not here to do goddamn menial labour, that's for sure.

Instead, he sits down beside the kid, draping his wings over the bed and waits for him to wake up; he'll keep the wings manifested just in case he needs to convince the jumpy teen of his angelic status again. In the meantime, he finds himself studying the kid's face; he's got freckles dotting his nose and high cheek bones. His hair is a bright splash of colour against his currently rather ashen complexion. He's kinda cute in a too-thin, too-fragile nerdy way. Without thinking, Grif leans in and brushes a few of the red locks away from his forehead but he's totally unprepared for the feeling touching the kid's skin sends racing through him...

Grif yanks his hand back like he's been burnt. He doesn't know what in the hell it was that just zinged through him but for a second there he'd felt... Safe, content. Like everything was somehow _right_...

. . . _That was weird as fuck. _Now that the feeling is gone, he's feeling even more uncomfortable in his borrowed skin and irritable to boot. Grif is annoyed by how he kind of wants to put his hand on the kid again; it's fucking illogical but it'd felt really nice... Before he can decide to or not, the kid starts to stir and Grif _really_doesn't want to get screamed at again so he backs off, going to stand by the kid's desk so he doesn't wake up to Grif leaning over his prone body like some kind of creeper.

"Hnnngh..." The kid groans and his lashes flutter open over green eyes. He turns, locking those mossy orbs right on Grif and then looks absolutely stricken. His mouth moves and Grif thinks he might have said "not a nightmare."

That's... Nice. Well, at least he isn't screaming.

"You gonna yell at me again?' he says and the kid shakes his head mutely "good because that ended really well last time." The kid is easing himself up on the bed, not taking his eyes off of Grif. His face isn't exactly full of trust and his skin is still tinged a little grey from shock, but he seems to be taking in Grif's wings with a look that says he's processing what he's seeing instead of just reacting. It's a start at least.

"... Why are you here?" He asks eventually in a voice no louder than a whisper. Grif takes this to mean he at least believes him about the angel thing and wills his wings away. The kid's eyes widen a little as the great tawny-coloured appendages fade from existence but he stays quiet, waiting for Grif to answer his question.

"I told you, didn't I? I'm here to help you; you've got yourself one good old-fashioned guardian angel. Yay." Grif realises he sounds sarcastic as all fuck, but hey; nowhere in the rules does it say he's gotta be nice to this kid to make him fulfil his stupid destiny. Michael and Gabriel weren't exactly nice when they'd been having one of their rivalries and pitted King Richard and Saladin against each other in the Third Crusade. Yeah, that whole thing looked like a total clusterfuck on the outside, but whatever; it fulfilled a couple of prophecies.

"Ok...' the kid says slowly "but, uh, why? Why would I have a guardian angel? I'm not exactly the most deserving... I mean, I'm an atheist." His eyes widen suddenly as if he's just realized how that could sound and looks on the verge of another panic attack.

"Don't worry, kid' he placates "belief in God has nothing to do with making or breaking it in terms of celestial afterlife acceptance. I guess it kinda sucks for you though; being totally wrong and all."

The kid flushes bright red and Grif almost laughs; against the colour of his hair it's like the kid's whole head is on fire.

"_There's no scientific evidence for the existence of God or angels_" he mumbles, seemingly torn between wanting to express his indignation and the fact that he's trying to talk to a messenger of God about the lack of evidence for his existence.

"Yeah, well, things work better if people don't know about us; we do our work, you go through your little lives oblivious and doing what you gotta and then boom, one big surprise party at the end when you shuffle off the mortal coil... Uh, that is unless you spent your life rooting for Team Luci, in which case it's not so much like a surprise party. More like suffering and burning. Or freezing. Depends which Hell dimension you end up in." The kid's eyes go very round and he grips the bedspread tightly.

"S-so there's really a hell?" the slight stutter in the question gives Grif an unpleasant feeling in his chest and it bothers him that he really doesn't want this kid to be scared.

"Don't worry, you think I'd be here if you were destined for eternity in damnation?" he points out but the kid looks away.

"... Wasn't worried about me." He says and Grif could kick himself. He'd forgotten about that; the file didn't really skimp on the details and none of the stuff mentioning the boy's father had been all that pleasant.

"Well... Uh, you never know; some prisons have really good rehabilitation programs." He says weakly and the kid's eyes flash back to Grif.

"You know about my dad?"

Well, shit. Grif can't lie to the kid; heck, he's an angel; it causes an unpleasant itching sensation even without a body if they try to lie.

"Uh. Don't take this the wrong way kid, but I sort of know _everything_about you. Comes with the territory."

Grif watches the boy's face go from ashen to green-tinged at his words and he's really hoping he doesn't puke. Thankfully the kid seems to get a hold of himself and flops back against his pillows like a boneless fish.

"... If you know everything about me, stop calling me 'kid', I have name." He mutters.

Huh. So Grif's charge actually might have some attitude after all.

"Yeah, and it's a _great_name, kid; Richard Eugene Simmons. Your mom did you a great big favour with that one."

The kid _scowls_.

"Don't talk about my mom like that" he grates out.

"As if you don't get pissed sometimes that she basically tacked a huge 'bully me, please' sign to you at birth." Grif says and the kid looks hurt and furious.

"For a guardian angel, you're kind of a jerk!" he snaps and Grif shrugs.

"Well, technically I'm _not_a guardian; we're just short on man-power. I'm basically temping for the higher orders" he points out and the kid blinks.

"It... Doesn't sound like how most people describe it up there' he says thoughtfully "it sounds like more of a... Business." Grif nods.

"Sort of, it's kind of like a military operation too. Usually I've got a pretty sweet gig that doesn't require all this leg-work. Though I guess in my case it'd be called wing-work" he smiles at his own joke but the kid doesn't. Gee. Tough crowd.

"What exactly do you do normally?" he asks.

"Usually I'm just doing what I like... You know, making the plants grow, spinning dreams for you assholes; anything that fits into the great scheme of life."

"That actually sounds kinda hard" the kid observes.

"No way, it's easy as fuck; I've spent the last week getting a rose to grow on top of Qomolangma; it's fun" Grif informs him and the kid blinks in confusion.

"Qomo-whatsit? Did you... Did you just sneeze? _Can _angels sneeze?"

Grif glares at him.

"God, and your file says you're meant to be _smart_... On top of Mount Everest, ok? You know, highest point on your planet?"

"Oh..." says the kid "sorry. I didn't know."

"Yeah, well, there doesn't seem to be a limit to what you mortals don't know' Grif sighs "but seriously kid, anything you can do to make this ride easier for me? It's appreciated and whatever."

"Aren't you meant to be making things easier for me?' the kid says with a frown "I thought that was the point of a guardian angel" Grif shakes his head.

"It's not that simple, kid; I can't just smite that douche who thinks you're a walking punching bag if that's what you're suggesting."

"No! I...' the kid looks down at his bandaged knees with disgust "I just hate him, ok? You have no idea how many times I've wished I could just pop him in his smug jock face, but I can't. I'm fucking helpless and I feel like shit all the time and now you're here and you say you're meant to help me but you're just treating me like I'm..." he trails off and looks away but Grif has seen the trembling of his lips. He moves forward to the bed and captures the kid's chin in his hand, turning his face so they are looking into each other's eyes.

"Treating you like what, kid?" He asks softly, feeling the same thrum of safety and warmth from earlier rush through him at the skin-to-skin contact.

_I really have the figure out what the hell is causing that..._

"Like I'm a liability" the boy says and his eyes are clouded with pain. Grif is suddenly reminded of the last of winter's frost clinging stubbornly to the newest leaves of spring. Fuck, he needs to stop waxing lyrical and reply before the kid starts bawling or something.

"Look... It's not you, ok?' he says, taking his hand off the kid before it gets too intimate "I mean, I don't wanna be here about as much as you're gonna learn you don't want me to be, but I mean it when I say I'm gonna help you. So just work with me here, ok kid?" the boy doesn't look at all trusting but he doesn't protest.

"Please stop calling me kid..." he sighs in exasperation.

"Ok...' Grif concedes and then adds with a smirk; "_Dick_."

"Well, don't say it like _that!_" the boy protests and Grif just laughs.

"You are going to have a lot of fun being stuck with me" He says ominously and poor Dick just stares at him, looking completely scandalized by the universe.

He looks as if he's about to say something snarky but he freezes and his eyes go wide when they hear distantly the sound of the front door closing.

"_Dick? Are you home?_"

"Mom..." Dick breathes and he jumps off the bed, looking around the room frantically.

"We have to hide you!' he hisses at Grif "she's gonna freak if she sees you in my room!"

"Kid, I could just-" his sentence is cut off when Dick grabs him by the wrists and starts manhandling him towards the closet. The feeling that races through him at the touch is much more violent than when he'd been the one to initiate it; it's freezing and burning and pain and pleasure and a million other conflicting feelings all at once. He wants to scream because it hurts like hell at the same time he wants to weep because _fuck, it feels so damn good._

And then the feeling is torn away from him as he is shoved roughly into the cramped space of Dick's closet.

There's sweat on his neck and he's pretty sure he fucking came in his pants.

Well. Phil's pants.  
_  
_In the dark enclosed space surrounded by t-shirts paying tribute to various sci-fi flicks, Grif tries to calm the racing of his vessel's heart all the while repeating a mantra in his head that best describes the situation he's found himself in;

_What the fuck? What the fuck?_

What. The. Fuck?


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **_shout out to you guys for not pointing out that Dick has been wandering around with no pants since chapter one. I kind of forgot. Let us assume he put on a pair before going down to see his mum otherwise things could potentially get even more awkward.  
_

* * *

It ends up being about an hour before Dick is able to return to his room and extract a cantankerous (and although he doesn't know it, slightly sticky) angel from his closet; his mother had given him the usual third degree over how his day had been, how were classes and did he make any friends today?

Dick has been going to Valhalla North High since ninth grade, but she still treats him like he's been there for a week. Dick loves his mom, but wishes she'd remember he is 16 years old...

He'd given her some half-hearted answers and finally managed to extricate himself from the interrogation; taking the plate with the sandwich she'd made him and disappearing upstairs again. His mom had looked a little hurt and Dick had felt bad; he knew she was lonely ever since his dad had to go away, but he couldn't always be there for her, not even when he wanted to be.

And at that point he was also kind of thinking that maybe unceremoniously shoving a messenger of God into a cramped closet was a mistake he should really be rectifying.

Dick makes sure to lock his door once he gets inside and hastily puts the sandwich on his desk before cautiously opening the closet.

He yelps as a hand shoots out and fists in his shirt as it pulls him inside.

"_What._" states Grif, face twitching with rage. It isn't a question and his tone brokers no argument; Dick is going to give an explanation right now or something very bad, possibly some kind of divine punishment is going to happen.

"Sorry!' Dick tries "I panicked! I didn't think I would be gone so long!"

"I am an ANGEL, you ass!' is the growl he receives in reply "I can fucking teleport and turn invisible, damn it!"

Dick's cheeks burn with embarrassment; yeah, of course he can.

"M'sorry..." he mumbles again and Grif sighs, releasing his shirt.

"I guess you wouldn't really have thought of it' he concedes "just keep it in mind in the future."

Pushing past the teen, the angel goes and makes himself at home on the bed. Grif feels a bit awkward being in close proximity with the kid right now; he really would have to figure out what the heck that incident before was. Speaking of which, he uses a little bit of his power to clean himself up before Dick notices anything (and before he does irreparable damage to the kid's blanket)

He'd have done it earlier, and probably have left the closet too had he not been in a state of complete shock; angels don't come in their vessel's pants. They just don't. Besides being an extraordinarily impolite thing to do to someone loaning you their _body_, celestial beings don't even have a sex drive to speak of really. Sure, sometimes they might slip and suffer from a few of the urges plaguing their human hosts, but Grif has never heard of any of them losing control so badly that they managed to ruin a perfectly good pair of slacks. For it to happen to him on the first day of the job is nothing short of mortifying.

Finding out just what the heck happened is gonna have to wait, though; the kid is starting to look edgy.

"So, uh... You're still here. In my room...' Dick says awkwardly "what exactly are you going to be doing to help me on this path you're talking about?"

"Aside from stopping you getting your ass kicked day in, day out?' Grif shrugs "dunno. Orders weren't exactly specific. They basically say help but don't fuck anything up. Like, I can't just strand the kid beating you on Ilha de Queimada Grande."

"What's in Ilha de-whatsit?" Dick asks curiously.

"Snakes."

"... Ah."

"Look kiddo;' Grif says, abruptly fixing the boy with a serious look "I can warn you when he's gonna try to put gum in your hair or when he's planning to jump you in the parking lot, but I can't force you along the path of destiny. I don't even know what the end result of the prophecy is meant to be. Heaven's got a boner for preserving the autonomy of the human race; it's a pain in the ass when we're literally trying to keep the fabric of the universe together, but them's the rules and I've gotta follow 'em."

"Excuse me for not exactly seeing you as the type to just go ahead and follow orders' Dick scoffs "No offence, but you kind of seem like you're flying blind here, so forgive me if I feel like I'm getting a kind of raw deal."

Grif _glares_.

"Was that flying blind comment a joke?"

Dick just rolls his eyes.

"I just think you should be telling me as much as possible' he says, picking up the plate with the sandwich and shuffling over to Grif "like are you going to be shadowing me all the time, cos that's kind of creepy, and can other people see you?" he extends the sandwich to the angel and it's practically snatched out of his hands.

"Thanks" says Grif but it comes out '_fanks'_ because he's already taken an enormous bite of the food. Dick thinks his jaw actually unhinged. After a moment's contented chewing the angel swallows and answers "no, I'm not going to be stalking you all the time but I'm always connected. Like if you need me you can just pray and I'll hear you. And if I sense you're in trouble I can be there instantly. As for other people, they can only see me if I want them too. It's kind of why I have this body, so I can pass unnoticed. They'll just see a fat Hawaiian dude."

"With blonde hair and blue eyes? You kind of stick out. Besides, this is Vermont."

Grif thinks about this for a moment and sighs

"Trust them to stick me in the whitest state to ever white' he mutters "should probably have snatched a vessel from closer."

Dick blinks

"Wait... A _vessel_? Like, you're riding around in a human's _body_?" the kid looks absolutely horrified.

"Calm down, freckles; Phil here was willing. He's all up with helping out one of the God Squad."

Dick still looks sceptical and his green eyes rake carefully over Grif's borrowed form.

"Can he hear us? I mean, does he see and feel what you do?" he asks and Grif shakes his head.

"Phil is asleep off in the back of his brain' he assures and then concentrates for a moment "he's dreaming about cheese."

Dick still looks a bit uncomfortable, probably wondering if the guy has a family out there somewhere, but eventually his shoulders loosen like he's accepted it.

"So this isn't how you actually look? Do you have like a real form or something?" he looks so earnestly curious and something about it makes Grif's stomach give a strange little turn. He scowls inwardly; the effects the kid if having on him are quickly becoming a pain in the ass.

"I'm not really sure about the science behind my physiology, kid. I think the egg heads say something like 'multidimensional wavelengths' but I don't know what that even means"

Dick's eyes light up

"That's fascinating! So you can go from dimension to dimension by altering the kinetic energy of your particles in order to change the frequency of your matter waves?"

Grif gives Dick an absolutely scandalized look as if he just vomited science on to him.

"That's a very, and I mean _very_ nerdy way to describe it' he mutters "the egg heads would love you, kid; the hell do you know so much about this kind of thing?"

"I like theoretical physics...' Dick says with an edge as if he's used to defending his interests "there's always something more to discover about the way the universe is put together, it's interesting."

"Bet angels being real is pretty disappointing then" Grif comments and Dick fixes him with a quizzical look

"No, why would you think that? I mean, from what you've told me your existing isn't totally illogical; you're basically just another kind of energy so you must have atoms."

"You are disturbingly calmer about this now that you can rub your science boner all over it" Grif says without thinking.

Yeah... Maybe not good to suggest even in a backwards way that the kid wants to get his dick near him. Not the kind of thing he needs to be thinking about right now.

The kid goes an unattractive shade of red that clashes terribly with his hair.

"Are you going to be making fun of me the whole time?" He grits out and is treated to an unapologetic shrug from Grif

"Depends, are you gonna be this depressingly nerdy all the time?" he quips.

"Asshole..." Dick mutters.

The angel doesn't particularly bothered by it; in fact he just leisurely finishes his sandwich and sets the plate at the foot of the bed before throwing himself down on it to getting comfortable.

"Whatever, kid. Hey, what say we talk about this more tomorrow? I wanna take a nap."

Dick glances at his end table and gives a disbelieving look; the clock there reads that it's just after 6. Grif follows his gaze and shrugs.

"I literally got pushed out of one plain of reality into another today, kid" he points out and Dick sighs.

"Ok, but I've got to do my homework. Do you want me to set you up on the floor, or...?" he trails off as Grif ditches his vessel's shoes and socks then wriggles underneath his duvet. He gives a resigned sigh

"... Or you could just take over my bed. Fine. That's... Fine."

Grif watches the kid sit down at his desk and get out his books; the angel doesn't miss how tense his shoulders are and he swears he can feel the anxiety rolling off of him.

He hates to cut and run, or rather sleep, when the boy still needs someone to reassure him, but Grif's tired and he's got his own doubts about this gig. He doesn't like the way the kid makes him feel and the idea that he might even be starting to _care_ after only just having met him scares the crap out of the angel. Not to mention he's still got to figure out what the hell happened when the kid touched him earlier. The easy ride he'd been hoping for is clearly not going to make it into reality; Grif knows he has to find some answers soon because yeah, for an angel Grif is kind of an asshole, but he's going to try his best not to screw this kid over anymore than he already is.

And attempting to let go of the grim thoughts of hard work, Grif let's himself drift off to recharge in the peaceful hold of human sleep. Right now that's a luxury he will gladly allow himself.


End file.
